


EMPYREAN | The Syndicate

by tissues



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: AO3 Tags - Freeform, Action/Adventure, Additional Warnings Apply, Agents, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Anxiety, Bad Decisions, Badass, Blood, Brothers, Bullets, But mostly just people who are there briefly and then die, Crack, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Cute, Death, Double Agents, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Drug Use, Enemies, Espionage, Evil, Family, Family Dynamics, Feelings, Feels, Fighting, Fights, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gang Violence, Gang War, Good, Gore, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hatred, Hiding, Hospitals, Humour, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t even know, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied referenced torture, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury, Intoxication, Kim Taehyung | V Is a Little Shit, Kissing, LGBTQ Themes, Language, Loss, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Masks, Mental Health Issues, Minor Original Character(s), Misunderstandings, Murder, Organized Crime, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Pain, Panic, Park Jimin Is a Brat, Park Jimin Is a Little Shit, Park Jimin Is a Tease, Past, Plot, Protectiveness, Rating May Change, References to Drugs, Relationship(s), Reunions, Romance, Sarcasm, Secrets, Slow Build, Spies & Secret Agents, Substance Abuse, Suspense, Taehyung is an agent, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Team, Teasing, Tension, Trauma, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Violence, Weapons, and many other things too, and the blurred lines between, badassery, but all other people though, but minor, but not so much the main characters, but we love him still, close friends, descriptive, enjoyyy~, if you’re lucky, im bad at tagging, im sorry, implied - Freeform, investigative mission, jimin is a criminal kingpin, jk im really really not, just side peeps, kicking, later on anyway, probably, punching biting, relationships, violence in general
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissues/pseuds/tissues
Summary: For the criminal kingpin Park Jimin- or as he is most commonly known, the Siren- life is nothing but a game. It exists to be played with, and with no one coming forward to stop him, he has free range over his city, enabled to play chess with people’s lives.But whatever his motives may be, an organisation hidden from the public eye intends to do something about this man when he oversteps his boundaries and takes the life of one of their own, throwing down the guantlet in the form of a severed head.Kim Taehyung, one of the top agents employed with this organisation, is consequently voted in to handle the situation. Acting as a double agent, he is tasked with infiltrating the Siren’s fortified ranks and bring them crashing down from the inside, alongside his grand web of criminal rule.However, Taehyung will find much more than he bargained for as he uncovers the shadow-ruled underground kingdom, and little does he know that the Siren’s song knows no limits, and he may just become another of his helpless victims. Nevertheless, Taehyung has a charm of his own, and the gun in his holster may get him further than he thinks.





	1. | augury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dead man walking meets the devil in an angel’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music:
> 
> -Flickers, Son Lux
> 
> Enjoyyy~

The stadium was alive with people. Enraptured by dancing colours and strobe lights, the ring in which he stood seemed almost benign, all aside from the towering bear of a man standing nearly a full three heads taller himself, who was armed with a vicious set of heavy chains adorned with enormous metal spheres that hung from their iron links.  
Electricity filled the colosseum. With being underground, the thousands of cheers and noise from the chanting crowds ricocheted throughout the cavernous space, amplifying every sound magnificently. It deafened him as if every voice was emanating not from the stands, but from the ground right beneath his feet. He had the urge to clamp his hands over his ears.

But it didn’t matter; the noise got drowned out. It was as if everything was suddenly underwater- he couldn’t hear the clammer of voices quite as clearly, and as he took frantic, stumbling, trembling steps away from the advancing giant he felt like he was wading through a pool of knee-deep water.  
As he braced himself for the likely fatal impact of one of the iron weights to the side of his face, his head, his jaw- his hands came forward to shield himself from the blow. However, when the cold contact never came, he recognised the sweet relief of silence, as eerie as it was. The noise had been swallowed entirely. Before him, the gargantuan man-monster turned his attentions away from him, focusing on a distant point somewhere within the crowds’ stands with a strangely adoring expression, and another emotion akin to fear.

Following the line of sight of all the crowds’ eyes with a cautious yet anticipant glance, he was struck with freezing fright as his nerves kicked in with the sight of a beautiful man. His expression exuded apathy and hollow detachment from his surroundings, while his youthful face grinned with a cunning sense of knowing. The atmosphere had changed immediately with the young man’s arrival. It was as if he could feel the waves of immense power radiating from the domineering figure despite him being so far away.  
At the eastern side of the circular theatre watched by unwavering eyes, in an enormous space replacing the stand’s benches with a wide set of stairs proceeding an elevated protruding platform supporting the weight of a grandiose golden throne, a person observed, sat like a king: less like a human, more like a god.

From such a distance it was difficult to decipher the man’s features, but the immense authoritative energy and commanding presence meant it could only be one person; the very same man who’d convicted him on account of espionage and sentenced him to death. Memories of his crimes flooded his clouded mind- the punishment landing him at the centre of this ring.  
He remembered sitting up in those stands, separated from the rest of the sick spectators as he stood at the left side of that throne. The reports he filed for the agents, the conversations he’d relayed-  
It was all an act, and now he would die an act.

It was only after these escapades that the information he brought back was revealed to be fake. It turns out, this man had known all the time that he wasn’t who he’d claimed to be. The godly figure had snagged the title of a criminal genius for a very good reason- he must have caught on almost immediately. Now that he thought back on it, he had only really ever seen his mask. Not once had he gotten even so much as a glimpse of the rest of the face beneath that cover- until now.  
The dividers between him and the crowd began to retreat as he fixed the infamous porcelain half-mask to his face.

Within seconds, the man’s voice was filling the arena with a booming clarity. But he wasn’t talking. He was singing.  
An angel’s voice outlined a haunting lullaby. Caught up in the melancholy melody, he couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t try to. And going by the sound of the resounding silence, he clearly wasn’t the only one basking in awe.  
The man stood from his throne with graceful, purposeful steps down the staircase, his hips swaying slightly and smile stretching asymmetrically. His clothes were understated, though the loose black and white attire was effective in asserting his power over the space before him. No fur cloak, no crown, no bejewelled sceptre- just pink lips, a white mask, and the glimmering flash of silver that bounced off the contours of his single chain link earring.

At the end of the carpeted platform, stringing out the last evocative one-syllable note with a tuned and trained set of high-pitched vocal chords, he rested his hands on the golden perimeter bar closing the platform in and looked down. Making eye contact with the man, he grew cold as the deceptively empyrean smile vanished and a maniacal grin overtook the angel’s face. His eyes were an inferno- burning cold with the fire of hell.  
An intense chant brewed amongst the zealous audience following the beat at which their leader tapped the handrail with his glossy black nails. He began to panic; the creeping dread overwhelming his barely-coping system. Turning back to the giant who grinned at him with a cruel ease, he swallowed his hesitation and closed his eyes, accepting the imminence of his approaching death.  
The masked man spoke with delight seeping like viscous honey strings into his saccharine voice:

“Let the game begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading, love u~ xxx


	2. | opening ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Siren throws down the gauntlet in the form of a severed head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (parts (P) are separated by ___)
> 
> MUSIC:
> 
>  
> 
> P2: Pyre- Son Lux  
> P4: Water- Jack Garratt
> 
>  
> 
> The rest is all yours x enjoyyy~

Buildings like theirs stand out like sore thumbs even amongst the many concrete giants that loom over this part of the city. For, theirs isn’t a giant, it’s a Goliath, and he appreciates it now as he knows it’ll be a while until he sees it again. The task he’s been given could take any length of time between a few months and a year, if not longer, and while that should be an intimidating thought to him, he can’t help but anticipate the challenge it’ll offer him. It’ll be an experience, certainly, but he has yet to decide whether it’ll be a positive one.

He notices just how much finesse their headquarters pridefully carries as it gives off a vibe of elegance and purposefulness, with more tinted glass than stone and so forth. He can admire it, especially when he picks out his room on the second-to-top floor, and smiles slightly to himself. That’s Taehyung’s room. That’s his room. That’s where he works, lives, sleeps and does so many other inherently mundane things that escape him every time he becomes _V_.

However, this time ‘ _V_ ’ won’t just be the shadowy name of an agent sticking to the wall, shrouded and protected by the dark. This time, it’ll be the name he lives by in the presence of the Siren. He will have to live and breathe as that character for as long as it’s necessary in order for the rest of his team to press on. The whole operation lies on his back, supported by his shoulders, and if something goes wrong or they fail, it’s all on him.

 

Still, the pressure converts itself into excitement. They chose him for this job for a reason, and who is he to doubt his teammates? He trusts in them completely, and if they trust in him to do the best out of all of them in this situation, then he’ll have to place some trust in himself, too.

Taehyung has no complaints with that sentiment. So, with a wave of ‘goodbye’, he turns his back on the HQ building and joins Jeongguk in the car that’s waiting to take them to the airport for their flight to Germany. It’s an interesting choice of the Siren’s; Berlin’s night scene, the setting for one of the nightclubs he owns that he’s making an appearance at tomorrow night. That’s _V_ ’s chance to plant a tracker bullet, the first move in their game of chess to remove the Siren’s ability to plant false information about his whereabouts and lead them astray. Once that’s done, he’ll be able to follow the man wherever. The only thing is, their boss doubts that _V_ will be the one having to do the following. If their plan unfolds accordingly, nothing will be able to separate the Siren from _V_ ’s trail. _Hook, line and sinker_. All in time to reel a shark in.

Taehyung smiles slightly to himself, resting his head against the window of the passenger seat. He can do nothing but hope he’s enough to make that link. However, he doesn’t have many worries, if any. Namjoon assured him with complete confidence, a smirk pulling at his dimpled cheeks, that he had already completed that part of the job.

 

It wasn’t like anyone had disagreed, either. They’d all been caught off guard by the dramatic entrance Namjoon had made last night, but the meeting had revealed a lot. It seems there’s no escaping the war the Siren’s bent on waging.

 

* * *

 

 

The door swung wide open. Every head in the room looked up as its handle collided with the wall, leaving a coating of silver aluminium residue on the dark grey paintwork. A tall figure clad in formal attire entered through the doorway, wearing black and deep purple from head to toe. The man’s presence was a familiar one: he seemed almost able to blend into the well-coordinated room, which made perfect sense, considering it belonged to him.

“RM,” greeted a voice, Seokjin’s voice, sounding confident and welcoming yet still edging slightly on hesitation. It wasn’t often their boss appeared looking so thoroughly thunderous- a storm all would do well to avoid- so as everyone stood from their chairs and clasped their hands loosely before themselves by way of greeting, each of them itched with an anticipation of the meeting that would reveal to them what phenomenon had somehow managed to rile the untouchable Namjoon up.

“Please- sit,” he more suggested than commanded, always a little softer around his very best agents, which were like family to him. As they all settled back around the glossy table glowing with oblong lights set into its stony granite, Taehyung took note of the wooden cargo box Namjoon held in his hands.

Their boss furrowed his brow, the others around him following suit as they analysed the box with scrutinising looks. Taehyung ran the possibilities of its contents through his mind, crossing them all off one by one as he struggled to come up with a valid idea.

From the corner of his eye, he caught another person’s movement; Seokijn stood from his seat next to him and moved to join Namjoon. It was a given from his attitude in the room earlier that he knew exactly what was going on here, but he had refused to tell them. Once they’d all gathered close enough to get themselves an adequate view, Namjoon moved further towards the table.

 

He dropped the box, allowing it to fall the last two inches to the table from where it’d hovered just above, where upon collision a crack-like echo bounced off the walls. Taehyung’s interest was piqued as the ricochet ignited his imagination. _What inside that container has Namjoon so on edge?_

Everyone at the table was now adjusting themselves in their seats. Yoongi narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward, Hoseok’s own shining with glints of interest and curiosity. He could see Jeongguk stand abruptly from his seat next to him and Taehyung soon followed suit, taking a few slow steps towards the mystery item.

“This,” Namjoon began, “was left on our doorstep this morning,” he tapped the lid on the box pointedly. It had been opened earlier; Taehyung could tell from how close he was stood, where the inside of the crate was lined with wooden splinters. Namjoon grabbed a pen from his desk, weighing it up in his hand as his audience watched intently. He spun it once, thinking, a frown etched onto his face. It was then that Tae noticed the curling, twisting, looping script decorating the ochre wooden surfaces. _That hand... it’s familiar, somehow..._

 

Namjoon jammed the end of the pen forcefully between the crate and its lid. The sudden brash movement caught him off guard, and he would’ve startled had he not been trained otherwise. Namjoon proceeded to use the pen as leverage to press the lid upwards and out. He left it slightly ajar. It looked as if he was about to say something when an awful stench assaulted their noses. It was strange, unlike anything he’d ever smelt before, and clearly the others around the table had noticed it, too, as they went to cover their mouths and noses. His own nose wrinkled at the odour, though something within the blend of the striking scent triggered his memory, and he knew.

 

Behind the fetor of decay and festering human flesh, which was undoubtedly the unpleasant component of the smell, there was something very different. And it wasn’t just a hint of perfume, or a fragrant flower tucked away inside, for all Taehyung could think about, despite the obvious connotations the scent of burning skin had for what might lie trapped inside the container, was him. The Siren. _This_ _is_ _his_ _signature_.

And truth be told, it made his mouth water. As difficult as it was to surpass the awful overbearing mephitis escaping through the cracks in the wood and feeding into the foreground, the Siren’s distinctive bouquet of tuberoses left a mark on his mind that he couldn’t wash away. All of a sudden, it was a different scent that he had to hide from, for how overwhelmingly powerful it was.

 

The Siren’s scent was anything but delicate. It was a punch to the gut that made you hiss more from the shock than the pain. There was nothing distinctly masculine or feminine about it, but more of a perfectly chaotic marriage between the two. It was a blend of the dominant tuberose with the sweet, demure perfume of jasmine and gardenia. It was sandalwood and vetiver, all masterfully combined with musk to create a heady, seductive fragrance that carved itself deeply into his every inch of skin. Taehyung could only imagine what it could do, what it would be capable of, when isolated on its own. A full dose of this, and Taehyung thinks he’d probably pass out. He was starting to gain a deeper understanding for how the Siren had earned his infamous name.

Taehyung shook his head to rid his mind of the scent, a shiver running down his spine as he refocused on the foreground malodour of flesh. Namjoon called their attentions back him. The man cleared his throat, nodding at them all to get the go-ahead. Taehyung moved closer still.

“If any of you throw up on my carpet, you’re cleaning it yourself,” he warned, prying open the box with a push.

A plethora of gasps held the room captive in an invisible kind of silence. It wasn’t so much the smell anymore, but the sight. Inside the box was a familiar face. A face on a severed head.

 

The man’s hair was matted to his forehead with coagulated blood. His eyes were dull, lifeless, skin covered in deep gashes, and the laceration at his neck revealed yellowed bone and cartilage cut with precision, dealt by a single clean blow. He could hear noises of hollow recognition from the tables around him, could see the solemn faces of Namjoon, who’d seen it already, and Seokjin, who knew what was coming. For everyone else including himself, it wasn’t a matter of the ghastly sight, but the shock of seeing someone they knew in this state. _Knew_. His word choice caught him off guard, like his mind had already moved this face into the past. However, for some strange reason, he couldn’t really feel anything.

All he could do was stare. A sharp inhale, maybe, but his face was one of stone and eyes nothing but dark. He barely registered anything else, anyone else, the reactions of his friends. He just about caught the widening of Jeongguk’s eyes as he stumbled backwards a little. He could see Hoseok cover his mouth with two hands in horror. In the corner of his eye, Yoongi closed his eyes shut in a forced, elongated blink, looking down at the desk solemnly. Even Seokjin, who’d been informed earlier by Namjoon, dropped his jaw at the sight. Namjoon remained stoic as he regarded their faces, a somber air hanging around him shoulders like a storm cloud. Taehyung could do nothing but look on in shock. His mind had shut off. He’d gone numb. This was someone he’d known, admittedly not very well, but he had known him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen anything along these lines before. Hell, they’d seen worse, but that was a given in their line of work.

 

The difference was that this was delivered straight to their front door. His head was purposefully left for them to find. The container that held him was scrawled over in pretty handwriting as if to coax them into thinking it was a gift. This was the head of the agent they’d sent in to watch the Siren. This was his response. Namjoon spoke.

“This is no idle threat, though I’m sure you’re all well aware of that.” His tone told those around the table that though this was a grave matter, their leader was confident in the interpretations he’d curated. He pressed the lid back on, and the scent slowly began to dim and fade away. They were all stood up now, defiance shining in their eyes, and Taehyung moved for the first time in a while. He turned his head towards their leader. Namjoon planted his hands firmly on the black granite table surface as two woman entered, directing two men to take away and dispose of the box. He held them for a second as they exited, the door closing with a resounding click. He looked them in eye.

“The Siren has thrown down the gauntlet.”

 

And it seems Namjoon was on the same wavelength as Taehyung was, because he knew this was the final straw for them. The Siren had taken the first life in a brutal war to come, and he knew, that if it was war the Siren wanted, it was war he was going to get.

 

* * *

 

Taehyung feels his eyes begin to droop. He’s tired, but he doesn’t know why. It doesn’t really matter to him. As long as he does well for team and he comes out alive and well at the end of this, should that be an option, then his body can be as tired as it likes. All that matters to him right now is the challenging weight on his shoulders and the desire to meet and exceed the expectations of his friends. His family. Everything else is secondary.

Though he won’t lie, either, because this is the kind of job he’s always wanted to be assigned to. Forgive him, but it’s these types of situations he performs best in. He’s an actor, and a very good one at that, and what better way to utilise his skill set than trying to manipulate a criminal kingpin under his own roof?

 

Call him crazy, but Taehyung’s smirk overrides all sense of stability and sensibility for the pure thrill that lies beyond the borders of his home country, within the confines of a beautiful European city. The lights, the people, the bustling streets... he can hear it all, see it all, and he can’t wait to feel it, too. He lets his eyes fall shut to the bliss of sleep and dreams of a face so close to his he can’t even breathe.

 

* * *

 

A man steps into a white room, delicate bare feet cold against the marble tiles. His stature isn’t particularly large, and he's somewhat dwarfed by the humongous scale of the pillars standing tall either side of him, but his aura reflects something much bigger. His presence in the glowing chamber shines out like a beacon.

Though not expressively tall, he has a lithe body lined with lean muscle, the sheer white fabric of the draping gown he wears leaving his arms and torso almost bare. It’s as if he’s walking surrounded by a bejewelled cloud, with ropes upon ropes of glittering stones offering contour to the thin swathes of silk habutai cloth that waterfall from his wrists, shoulders, waist and hips. It trails behind him, dipping into the cracks between the mosaic tiles, dragging against the marble in the absence of friction with every step forwards.

 

His facial structure offers a fair contrast to the delicate nature of the fabrics hanging from his frame, in that while his features remain softened and in some places slightly rounded, sharp angles cut through them like shaved diamonds.

Unlike the curves and dips in the fine lace that hug his figure tight, his silhouette is punctuated by sharp, dark eyes accentuated by thick strokes of black liner, which bring a hint of smokiness and foreign seduction to the ironically angelic white of it all. It’s lips lacquered with liquid Persian rose, tanned skin against the backdrop of cloudy alabaster white, and the heady scent of tuberose and jasmine, gardenia and musk, sandalwood and vetiver: the blend that earns him his name. And with the body, comes the temple.

Gold leaf graces the ceiling, displaying a great mural of twisting silks and fine gossamer lace held in the hands of cherubs. The precise and careful paintwork makes their wings seem soft, like every feather would feel real and tangible despite their two dimensional nature. From the ceiling, curving down and around the walls and glossy columns, come seafoam green and taupe vines adorned with pear-coloured olives that gather in nets at the base of each proud stone pillar.

 

The man’s feet adjust to shapes of the vines beneath him as he steps between the two columns barricading him in between them. Though the crackling sounds they make aren’t loud, every little noise that breaks the resounding silence of the cavernous marble chamber is amplified, and he can hear the breaking of the twigs beneath his feet a thousand times over, the echoes bouncing off the walls repeatedly.

He reaches marble again, the pale tiles reflecting every detail of his face magnificently. He’s crossed the short distance from the grandiose arched entryway to the waterside, and steps forward and down onto the first of the shallow marble stairs, and gradually his feet meet the glimmering water.

It’s so transparently clear that he can see the marble tiles twisting beneath its surface. In a series of minute movements, the man shucks the wrap gown from his shoulders and allows it to fall to his elbows and waist, dipping towards his hips. The trim laced with twinkling sapphires gathers in waves of see-through shimmering silk swathes and the feathers that contour the sloping back of the garment slowly slip to reveal his shoulder blades, and the feathers become reflections of drooping angel’s wings.

 

He can see his feet wavering as they become fully submerged in the watery sheen. They follow the pale steps down into the bubbling pool. Each glittering droplet of water glints with an elusive blue-green hue, tinting the near-colourless surface with sparkling hints of turquoise, silver and pale cadmium-gold.

He slips in, a satisfied sigh drawn from between his lips, and he releases himself of the gown. It floats idly on the surface, shining white and bright, an artwork in itself. The trickle of water from the surrounding fountains and the soft jets permeates the silence and relaxes the atmosphere even further as he leaves his shining hair to encircle his head, crowning him with a black halo. It’s surreal, but then again, all experiences in his sanctuary are; the chamber makes you feel like a god with every visit. As he closes his eyes and gives himself over to the sound, the scent, and the feeling, footsteps sound on the marble. He turns towards the sound and grins slightly at the woman who enters, balancing a tray with a crystal glass and a bottle of his favourite champagne in her hands.

 

“I see you’ve come with gifts?” He questions impishly, gesturing towards the drink. She shakes her head at him exasperatedly as she places the tray at the edge of the pool, near where the bubbles cloud the water.

“It’s the one you sent Junmyeon to procure for you. He had Kris send out Chanyeol and Baekhyun to convince them nicely.” She explains, and he laughs to himself as he floats over.

“Nicely?” He echoes, slightly incredulous. “Nothing’s ever done nicely when it comes to those two. Minseok and Jongin are just the same, but at least they work separately. I’d almost feel sorry for Jongdae and Kyungsoo, having to deal with all that,” he muses, tapping the glass with his nail and leaving it to ring out, “if I wasn't so damn jealous of them.”

“What have you got to be jealous of? Forgive me, but it seems like you have everything you could possibly need... or want,” she corrects mindfully, “and more.”

He chuckles, but there’s no warmth to it. “It may seem so,” he humours. She ignores his avoidance of the question. If he doesn’t want to talk, he’s not going to.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to it,” she smiles politely, and he nods absently. She moves to take her leave.

“Oh,” he stops her, pouring the Krug Grande Cuvee from the bottle into the Champagne flute, watching as the bubbles gather, fizzle and burst against the glass. “Tell him I said thank you.”

She smiles again. “Of course.”

 

Upon her exit, he swirls the alcohol in his hand by the stem, handling it with delicate fingers. He takes a sip. It’s floral relish reminds him of that fragrance. Freshly cut flowers, almonds, pastry, spices… an elegantly fruity, nutty flavour shining brightly in the glass. It’s his favourite for a reason.

 _V._ That’s the name that'd been reported back to him. He really does have to commend Namjoon for his ability to keep his agent’s names and details hidden. Hell, even his own. It took him years to get Namjoon’s name alone. He swirls the glass into a whirlpool. _V_ …

He knows that’s who they’ll assign to him. There’s no question about it. The looks, the skill-set, the attitude… he saw it all from his first glance at the photos. Those images in particularly play through his head on a looped slideshow, never-ending. _V_. He’ll make the perfect trap for the Siren, give him a taste of his own medicine. He would, and he knows he can’t deny it, but he won’t be able to, because he knows. The Siren knows what’s coming. He always has. He always does.

 

Even so, there’s a chance this _V_ may catch him off guard. There’s something different about him in his face, his eyes, that sets him apart from the rest of them. They'd all ended up dead in the end, or perhaps traumatically injured to the point of acute memory loss. However, he seems different, somehow. But no matter. He loves new flavours, and adores a challenge. Lucky for him, _V_ seems to pose both.

He smirks to himself, downing the rest of the glass in a single gulp and swallowing the taste it leaves on his tongue. The next time the Siren bathed in his sanctuary, he wouldn't be alone. He envisions it, the tall man in the photos allowing his robe to fall to his waist as he steps into the crystal water before him where the Siren would wait for him against a backdrop pale marble. He smiles to himself.

No, next time, he’d have himself a very special guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~
> 
> I hope you that was okay, especially after such a long time between now and the last chapter (sorry)  
> Basically, I check everything very meticulously? And I would very much appreciate if you point out any and all mistakes, however small, I may have missed while proof reading this, so I can go back and correct them ;)
> 
> Thanks again for reading, I hope you enjoyed this x all feedback is welcome so please, don’t feel like you have to be a silent reader cause I’d love to know what you think :)))


	3. | guns + ferraris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V likes a gun in his hand, especially when the Siren’s playing childish games with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUSIC;
> 
> What’s Up Danger- Blackway & Black Caviar
> 
> This will increase total badassery, please use to enhance your reading experience, it will be worth it ;)))

The butt of his sniper rifle rests comfortably on his shoulders, steady while the rest remained supported by a collapsable tripod stand set on the granite in front of him. He lies flat on his stomach, chest pressed to the roof of the building, barrel angled smoothly downwards. The neon lights of the club flashed in his peripheral, the building in sight.

Loud trance music pumped out through its doors, drawing in groups of customers at a time, even at the relatively early hour of eight. Dusk had set in thickly nearly an hour ago, and there was a constant flow of people swaying in and out through the swinging doors. Many were the city’s elites, the bouncers sparring no one a second glance, and next to no ordinary people were passing through its doors. However, none of these people were what he was looking for.

The noise polluting the air around him attempted unsuccessfully to disrupt his calm composure, though his target’s absence was starting to grate on his nerves.

“ _Any_ _minute_ _now_ ,” his quartermaster thought out loud, voice quiet and controlled. Yoongi had always been good at his job: guiding the field agents through every one of their messes, calming their often impatient minds. This occasion was no exception.

Two more minutes passed. Nothing.

“There’s no sign of him, Suga, what’s going on?” His fingers itched at the trigger, brain processing the possible circumstances that could’ve caused this disruption.

“ _Not_ _long_ , _V_ , _he’s_ _obviously_ _just_ _late_ …” he trailed off, doubt creeping into his voice. Both of them new that was bullshit. Someone with a mind like the Siren’s would never be late or early, for everything the mastermind did was planned and controlled to the extreme. He could almost hear the cogs turning in Yoongi’s head as the man behind the mic slotted last piece of the puzzle into its space.

Then there was panic.

“ _Oh_ \- _fuck_ ,” the frantic clicking of keyboard keys assaulted his ears at the same time he heard the first footsteps tracking quickly up the stairwell behind the door that opened onto the roof he’d been waiting on.

“Who is it?” Taehyung questioned lowly, already disassembling his rifle and slotting each piece into its own divided compartment of the case. Finished, he reached a gloved hand into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled out a Magnum. He clicked the safety off.

“ _Don’t_ _shoot_.” Yoongi’s voice came calm, warning him in a calm tone to hold his ground. “ _I’ve_ _got_ _CCTV_ _footage_ \- _they_ _have_ _assault_ _rifles_. _You’ll_ _be_ _dead_ _in_ _seconds_ _if_ _you_ _don't_ _get_ _off_ _that_ _rooftop_ _now_.”

“They?” Taehyung questioned Yoongi’s choice of words with a quietened tone as he began to shuffle over to a support beam hanging over the street below.

“ _I_ _would’ve_ _pegged_ _them_ _as_ _the_ _Siren’s_ _men_ ,” Yoongi began, voice still echoing the deep thought, strategy, and use of cool logic Taehyung had gotten used to hearing from him. “ _It_ _would_ _make_ _sense_ …” he trailed off again.

Taehyung was doubtful. “But?” Taehyung pressed. There was a pause again. He used the time to reach up and tie the self-releasing rope around the steel girder tightly, tugging on it a few times to test the support. He’d fed it through a rivet hole, so there was no chance of anything slipping. Taehyung was confident this would support his weight just fine.

“ _But_ ,” he echoed, “ _they_ _aren't_ _wearing_ _the_ _masks_. _My_ _guess_ _is_ _they're_ _a_ _petty_ _rival_ _group_ _trying_ _to_ _take_ _one_ _of_ _our_ _agents_ _out_ _so_ _they_ _can_ _get_ _to_ _the_ _golden_ _Siren_ _at_ _the_ _end_ _of_ _the_ _rainbow_ _themselves_. _Don’t_ _worry_ _about_ _them_ \- _they’re_ _playing_ _a_ _game_ _with_ _us_. _Your_ _priorities_ _right_ _now_ _are_ _getting_ _yourself_ _off_ _that_ _roof_ _alive_ _so_ _we_ _can_ _finish_ _this_ _mission_ _tonight_. _Heart_ _can_ _run_ _a_ _check_ _on_ _them_ _later_ , _I_ _have_ _their_ _IDs_ _secured_ ; _they're_ _being_ _sent_ _over_ _now_.” Taehyung smiled. If you wanted someone to get a job done in the least amount of time possible, you’d be a fool not to go to Yoongi.

Taehyung imagined Yoongi watching his little green ‘V’ sign on the monitor, seeing the ‘meters above sea level’ figure decrease by intervals of five as he abseiled his way down the side of the building. He could hear that the men had emptied onto the rooftop by the sounds of the locked door being broken in and heavy-duty boots scattering granite across the level surface of the roof he’d been stood on mere moments before. With one hand wrapped around the black fibre rope and the other clutching his case, Taehyung continued to push against the wall as he quickly descended through the air. He could feel the ground approaching him when Yoongi spoke up through the speaker in his ear again.

“ _As_ _much_ _as_ _I_ _dislike_ _to_ _put_ _pressure_ _on_ _you_ , _you’re_ _going_ _to_ _have_ _speed_ _up_ ,” he announced, as if he didn’t know how quickly he was descending already. “ _If_ _they_ _see_ _your_ _face_ , _or_ _decide_ _shoot_ _you_ , _you_ _might_ _possibly_ _end_ _up_ _on_ _the_ _dead_ _side_ _of_   _things_.” He could just about see the man’s smirk accompanying the sarcastic comment. Despite the obvious joke in the statement, he was right. But neither was worried. They both knew he’d get away clean. He always did.

He hit the floor before before the men had even reached the edge of building. With sure hands, he found the glowing trigger at the end of the long rope, wrapped in innumerable fibres, and squeezed it in his palm, wrestling the rope into a controlled bundle as it fell from its knot to the ground below.

He took off running, pulled his face mask up and over his mouth and nose, and skirted around the edge of the building to where a sleek black Ferrari 488 GTB was pulling up to await his arrival. What perfect timing.

He grinned toothily. He swung the door open with a flourish and slid inside the passenger seat, shoving his case into the footwell and tossing his gun onto the backseat a little more carelessly than he probably should’ve. The boy at the wheel greeted him with a frown, refusing to even look in his direction.

“And what time do you call this?” He questioned, a snarl piercing his tone.

Taehyung quirked an eyebrow at him, running through as many responses as he could come back with. “Well, if I’d known this was how you were going to treat your elders, I would've kept my handgun loaded,” he smiles, pushing at his shoulder. The boy, Jeongguk, turned his head and smirked at him, all sense of mock hostility gone. Taehyung allowed an easy smile to flood his features. It was this kind of situation that really tied them both together. It was a strange comfort zone to share, but the two could love and appreciate the adrenaline that coursed through their veins and the thrill that kept them on their toes in the midst of a chase. It’s why they worked so well together.

“V,” he sighed by way of greeting, “what a pleasure it is to see you again so soon.”

“Likewise, Agent Ace,” Taehyung returned, copying the mockingly posh tone the younger had put on. “It’s nice to see you’ve settled for a vehicle a little more convenient than the jet.”

With a longing sigh, Jeongguk pouted playfully. “Believe me, it wasn't an easy sacrifice. Although I must say,” he countered, as he shifted the gearstick and the monstrous engine reared and roared to life, “I like this a lot more than I thought i would.”

Within seconds, the Ferrari was tearing away from the curb, wheels spinning at a surreal speed, the streets and nightlife of Berlin an indistinguishable blur on neon beyond the windshield. Horns beeped as they weaved past commercial lorries, family cars and spoiler-adorned sports classics, but even the latter couldn’t compete with the elusive black shark he rode shotgun in. With the ease at which Jeongguk tackled the busy city roads it was clear he really had grown quickly used to the car. It seemed he just had a talent in the field, though knowing him, this wasn’t exactly surprising.

In hindsight, perhaps they should’ve been more discreet, but anyone who was there would’ve been able to tell you just how impossible that’d be going by the pace of the armoured vehicles tailing behind them. Black goliaths as they were, Taehyung could just about make out their beastly forms ramming their way through the traffic in the reflection of the rear view mirror.

Automatically, his hand went to seize his pistol from the back seat, muttering curses under his breath. Jeongguk, on the other hand, pulled him back into his seat.

“Hey, hey,” he drawled lazily, still smiling lopsidedly. “Relax a bit, will you? God, what’s Suga done to you...” he laughs, and spares no apology when Yoongi, in a deadpan, reminds him of his continued presence in both their headsets. Taehyung looks at the boy incredulously, appalled at the assumption.

“And to think I thought you knew me well... that’s not it at all, Acy- I just don’t like an empty hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHHHH IM SORRY. THIS IS SO LATE. I DONT MEAN TO MAKE EXCUSES BUT IM GONNA GO AHEAD AND MAKE EXCUSES. Mock prep + mock revision + mock mocks + mock exams + revision holidays + results today = an amazingly small bracket of time to write in, I tried my best though here you are!! I know it’s short compared to the last as well IM SORRY ILL TRY NOT TO DO THIS AGAIN


End file.
